One More Time with Feeling
by Enantiosis
Summary: Killing. Killing is familiar, comfort. They are efficient at killing. Love is uncharted, confusion. Love is a mess. Skulduggery's past catches him. And she is a very particular woman with a very particular trap. As always, history repeats itself and never really lets go. Oneshot. Chinduggery.


****A/N: This was written for Derek Landy's writing competition. The first paragraph in italics is his writing prompt, the rest is my work. I didn't submit this for three reasons. 1) It's a little weird and unorthodox; I would've been really embarrassed. 2) It went waaay past the word limit... which was 500 words max. Mostly because I can't shut up. 3) I wouldn't have gotten it in on time anyway. Because I can't shut up.

Just so we know I'm working really hard on this rambling thing I do and that's why I'm going to stop typing right now.

Oh and also I'm not to blame for the ridiculous title 'Sadistica Tortura' that isn't my doing we can thank our Lord and savior Derek Landy for that valuable contribution it wasn't me I swear so I pretty much shortened it to 'Tortura' throughout the fic cause to tell you the truth it was painful to write and it killed my buzz.

Ok yes shutting up now goodbye.

**One More Time with Feeling**

_Valkyrie groaned, and sat up. "I told you it was a trap," she said, looking around at the musty interior of what seemed to be a crude dungeon cut out of rock._  
_"No, you said it looked like it was a trap," Skulduggery corrected. "That's completely different."_  
_He helped her up as a door opened behind them and Sadistica Tortura walked through, wearing a hooded robe, a silver mask that covered the upper part of her face and an unsettling smile on her crimson red lips._

The reaction was instantaneous. Skulduggery's hands slipped to his sides and withdrew to snap forwards; a steady gun barrel was brandished at her forehead in the blink of an eye.

Valkyrie sidled past, hands ready to move in her defence.

The Tortura let a smile glide across her face. Apex predatory instincts sent sparks of excitement slivering and catching on her spine. Adrenaline stabbed at her stomach and she clenched her hands, relishing the fear that floored her senses and the giddy exhilaration that drove the tingles of delight to pry beautifully against her rib cage.

Recklessness almost made her part her lips and let her words of loathing and disgust, pity and reverence pool off her tongue, as eloquent as quicksilver but as poisonous, too.

Instead, her nails bit into the flesh of her palm and she ran her tongue over the sharp backs off her teeth, appreciating how they sliced her tongue and let the metallic taste of blood strangle the gentle tang of ecstasy.

Want. Desire. Inhale. Suppress.

She lowered her eyelids and delicately clasped her hands together. In order to contain the elated laugh that strained to be released, she grinned and arched her back, allowing a shudder to travel through her as she released a trembling breath that caught in her throat.

She slit her eyes open and was forced to deepen her grin at the sight. They stood so proud, so bold.

Fearless and vulnerable.

She drew in another breath, suffocating the impatient beast inside. She didn't smell the virulent scent of terror, or the subtle smell of fresh sweat. No, they had easily torn down her guards.

Valiant yet gullible.

"Would you please be so kind as to point us to the exit before I blow your head off?"

Eyes still shut, she relied on hearing. That was her Skulduggery, his voice never allowing the confident façade to waver. The interruption of her internal placation was as rude as a slap to the face. Fingers twitched in rage and eyelids tugged, desperate to be opened.

The only sign that the stab at ruffling her feathers was more of a pleasure than a catalyst to her anger was that her fingers stilled and her body relaxed. Finally, a wave of tranquility rolled over her and she was ushered into a state of stagnant, cold calm, comforted by the fact that she was still dealing with the same, conceited, unstable Skulduggery she was so familiar with.

Each movement as slow and graceful as if she were coated in syrup, she raised her eyelids and steepled her fingers.

A scoff came from Valkyrie's direction and she lazily turned her head towards her and blinked, mildly curious.

"Look, lady. We don't have all day to watch you stand there and do… whatever it is you're doing. Can you please hurry up with trying to kill us so we can kill you 'cos I actually have important things to do."

She smirked and raised her eyebrows, not that Valkyrie could see. A smile played at the corners of her mouth and she was amused by the thought that the young girl would be much more respectful, at least reserved if she knew who she was talking to.

Not that she mattered anyway.

As quick as a flash, her middle fingers tapped thrice against her palms, and she gazed serenely at Valkyrie.

Valkyrie rose into the air, a pressure against her ribcage pushing her upwards. With a guttural shriek and a sickening cracking sound, the rip of wet flesh resounded through the room. Blood splattered the walls and the Tortura grinned as she felt it warm against her robes. Valkyrie's body dropped to the floor with a thud and her heart followed suit, landing next to her head and leaving a spray of blood.

Skulduggery screamed and she felt the vengeful beast inside her heart croon happily. He should've learnt by now that he always sends little kids to their deaths.

Skulduggery dove forwards and fell to his knees beside Valkyrie, where he began numbly grasping at her blood soaked clothes and palming over her wound.

The Tortura sighed and put a hand on her waist. Heels clacked against the stone floor as she crossed the room to meet Skulduggery's crumpled form.

The contrast between the two forces was now distinct. The Tortura stood tall and proud, chin high and shadow dominating Skulduggery, who was huddled small against the ground.

The image of elegance was shattered as the she leaned down and caught a fistful of Skulduggery's jacket. With a purse of her lips, she jerked Skulduggery to his feet and slammed him against the nearby rock wall.

Skulduggery mumbled something into the rock and let his knees sag. She dragged him back up, pressed herself up against his back and manoeuvred around his body so that his weight was supported by her legs either side of one of his.

Hoping to invoke a reaction from him, she slithered her hands underneath his shirt and up his spine, biting her lips as her fingers caught on his vertebrae. She nuzzled her head into the curve of his neck and licked along the underside of his jaw.

He remained dead silent. No more than responsive than a corpse.

The Tortura's upper lip twitched and she felt fury start to muffle her thoughts. Every fibre of her being demanded that she make him want her. She almost seized his skull and shattered it against the wall then and there. Instead, she withdrew her hands from his body and stepped away cautiously, as if she were almost afraid of him.

The second she stepped back, Skulduggery's knees hit the floor.

He made no move to get to his feet and instead let his skull hit the wall, so inert that it was easy to picture him as nothing more than a skeleton, all life long since reaped from its bones.

But that was such a boring notion that she crouched down and immediately twisted his skull around to face her, now somewhat worried about the state she'd put him in. A cold tendril of uneasiness slid through her and a flicker of fear flashed in her eyes, turning the beautiful crystal blue into a pool of fear. But within seconds, her face returned to its mask of indifference and the emotion was shoved down, far away into a place of barren coldness.

When he continued to ignore her, she became desperate. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. He was supposed to cry and scream and beg for her forgiveness. He was supposed to crave her, to _need _her to murmur words of comfort and placate him as he writhed in agony, desperate for her affection. He was supposed to feel how she had felt.

A feral snarl dominated her usually so captivating and pleasant features, and deep within her heart, she knew it only was terror playing dress up. She kneeled behind him, again pushing him up against the wall. She snaked her hands up his arms with a slow, controlled pace, stopping to rest on his slack shoulders. With a playful smirk, she rested her chin atop his shoulders and slid her hands underneath the collar of his well-tailored suit. She paused, taking a moment to caress his collarbones before teasingly tapping out a melody on them.

Despite herself, a warm feeling began to spread inside her as friendly, happy memories flooded back. Warm days spent underneath shady trees, kisses freely given. Unchecked, a smile drifted across her face, only to be replaced by a confused frown. The feeling was nostalgic, something cherished long ago but almost forgotten, like the musty, childhood toy abandoned in the bottom of a cupboard to be found decades later. The sudden ache in her heart was as brutal as a stab wound.

A single, vicious sob wracked her body, sending her crumpling inwards. She thumbed her mask off and discarded it against the floor, flinging it away blindly. An expression of sheer excruciation wrought her face, filling her clouded eyes with tears as she gazed miserably back at Skulduggery, but only seeing a comatose man, with nothing left, worlds away from her. The bitter taste of regret slammed into her and for the first time in a long while, she felt vulnerable, gullible, every nerve raw and assaulted. In a desperate bid to numb the pain, she wrapped her arms around Skulduggery's torso, trying to hide as much as herself as she could within his figure. The tears poured shamelessly onto his shoulder.

Fuelled by the desire to have him with her again, the Tortura spun Skulduggery limp form around and propped him up facing her. Quickly, timidly, she drew her hands back, holding them nervously against her chest. As soon as the support left him, he sagged like a ragdoll and she darted forwards. With a bit lip, she fanatically grasped his jacked lapels and hoisted him back up.

Tears began to well in her eyes again as she returned his dead gaze. A whimper escaped her throat and suddenly, she didn't seem so tall anymore.

Clutching his skull timorously in her hands, the Tortura dotted soft, urgent kisses across his face. She shuffled around restlessly, hands grasping and pulling at whatever they could find. But no matter what she did, she knew that it wouldn't change. She had lost something. Something vital.

The realisation came down on her as if truth weighed a thousand tonnes. She was helpless.

Helpless. She had never been helpless before. It was an odd feeling, an unwelcome feeling. Her tongue began to brush fretfully over her lips and her face twitched into minute frowns. Just as fear began to close up her throat, everything became very still, quiet and cold.

She hunched over and looked at her hands, which were clasped numbly in her lap. A thumb twitched, and her lacquered fingernails dully threw off what little light there was. She smiled. It was a sad smile, the kind of smile that passes over your face with glimmer of hope and then ends with defeat. Were these really her hands? They weren't the hands she had when she first met Skulduggery. She remembered those hands, was familiar with their gruff nature, calluses and battle scars. Though they hadn't been beautiful, they had been real.

The tendril of uneasiness returned, and this time flooded her entire body with a sedated, deadened feeling and nothing to ward off the grief that clutched her.

With weary, cheerless eyes she met Skulduggery's empty eye sockets with a look that mirrored his own lifeless gaze.

"Skulduggery?" She said. It was supposed to be a command but instead it came out as a whine; high pitched and hollow.

Her voice cracked and surrendered to silence. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but her vocal chords protested and she felt her throat constrict, the grief choking her. She managed to make a barely audible murmur that tried to stammer something out, but she quickly abandoned that and fell quiet.

A few moments passed and an odd calm washed over her. She had lost. Defeat. Defeat was also a feeling she hadn't felt in a long time. She wasn't sure she liked it. It left her as heavy as lead. She wasn't sure if she liked that either.

"I'm sorry." The resigned words fled her mouth, strong but neither permitted nor sure. She didn't even have authority over her own body any more. This was truly defeat. But the Tortura found that she didn't mind.

Skulduggery raised his head to look at her from beneath the brim of his hat. As the shadow left his face, he stiffened as he really looked at who was seated before him. With her head bowed and shoulders slumped, she looked nothing like the woman he knew her to be.

"China." He mumbled. And even then velvet worked its way into his soft whisper.

For a moment she didn't react, his voice only a muffle in the background. Then China jolted awake. He eyes snapped open and she slowly looked up, almost unbelieving. Her parted lips started to quiver and she ignored the hairs that stuck to her wet face. Her eyes wide and incredulous, she crawled up to him, oblivious to the dirt that worked its way into her clothes.

She fell into him and slumped, squeezing her eyes shut and lacing her arms around him. She buried her head into his shirt and held him all the tighter, never wanting him to slip out of her grasp again.

"China…" He started, but he trailed off and it turned into acceptance.

He cocked his head to the side, uncertain. He hesitantly rested his jaw upon her head, then lifted his arms and draped them around her body. They hooked around either side of her ribcage and she stopped shivering. Feelings almost subdued and half-forgotten stirred inside him, and he tightened his arms, trying to get her as close as possible. He angled his skull to press his cheekbones atop her head, and he grazed his gloved thumb over her shoulder affectionately. He felt the throb of her heart against his own empty chest cavity. A tenseness he hadn't realised he'd been harbouring ebbed away and flooded out of him and his entire body ached, but it was a good ache; comforting. This was a melody he remembered, and although he had forgotten the words, he felt the beat.

For the first time in hundreds of years, he felt contentedness wash over him. If he had eyes, they would've been peacefully closed. If he had a mouth, it would've been smiling. As it was, when China raised her head and her eyes darted searchingly over his skull, even though she knew she wouldn't find what she was looking for, he inclined his head and pressed his teeth against her lips in his best imitation of a kiss.

Her hands grabbed at his back, pulling herself towards him, China returned the kiss. Slowly, Skulduggery slid his arms from the hug and instead clasped her face with the utmost delicacy. The past seeped into the present and hung its warmth around the room. A smell of musty autumn leaves filtered through the air. Memories returned to him and everything seemed familiar and comforting. It was war. Terrible but understandable. If Skulduggery looked up he would see a battlefield through a haze of setting sun, its light splaying across the sky in a mottle of deep reds, oranges and yellows. He was young and she was naïve and they would meet under the cover of darkness, the threat of capture only adding to the excitement of the traitors. He remembered how quickly the war turned. Horrible screams hardened them and everything changed, and now they _loved _eachother. Their innocence was long gone, but there was still a childish glee to replace the holes in their hearts when they were together. Then Skulduggery remembered the trap and everything was dark and unknown and he was _angry. _He had been _betrayed._

Silence crept back into the room and stark reality dripped down the walls, reclaiming the cavern with a harsh bitterness.

"I can never forgive you." Skulduggery said, and it tore what was left of his twisted and blackened heart to say so.

"I know." China understood.

They stayed pressed together with their arms still in death locks around eachother. Just _holding_, just _touching _was enough. Skulduggery gripped her and she gripped him back, the way they held eachother conveying more than words ever could. Things their throats swallowed up, things they couldn't bear to say expressed in minute touches and the grazing of skin on skin.

The minutes passed and they held eachother as tightly as possible, as if disrupting the silence would be the end.

"Why did we fight, Miss Sorrows?"

"For this. Do you remember, Detective Pleasant?"

He did indeed. He had never forgotten.


End file.
